In the Interest of Time
by Puppeteer of the Realms
Summary: A solitary being, a god of sorts, sits alone and contemplates possibilities. Emotional venting, Oneshot.


A/N: Hello all.

Alright, to be blatantly honest, I have no idea what I'm doing right now. Today, the day before my twentieth birthday, I just feel, I don't know, something. I can't find the right word for it, but I already feel my mortality looming somewhere out there. I've just.. how am I supposed to put this? Moral to the story: stress is the mind killer. I'm about to cave under the pressure from so much shit right now, and I don't know what to do. I'm just lost without a paddle.

Just... AAAGGH! How am I supposed to do this? This little game called life, this balancing act, this lottery ticket. Why is it that the most resounding, terrible tragedies happen to the purest of heart? Not only am I stressed, but I have to watch as my friends, family, loved ones, hell even complete strangers lose everything precious to them?

Ugh.. whatever, the point is, I need to write something, I just have to vent. I'm not trying to spam a shameless self promotion to get more attention or anything, but hey, if someone enjoys the product of my depression-induced inspiration, then have at.

This isn't going to have any bearing on my other fanfics, it's just a thing. Insert typical shtick, I own nothing, RWBY is owned by blah blah blah you know the deal. Copyright stuff, Rooster Teeth, other legal crap, enjoy(I guess?).

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**Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own RWBY. The series and affiliated copyrights go to Monty Oum and Rooster Teeth.**

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The Multiverse. A theory to some, a dream for many, known by all.

Anything that could ever exist did, yet the opposite was also true. If something is destined in one version, it is an impassable obstacle in another. Patterns arose, rules were created, a new cast called. Patterns laid out consistencies, and inconsistencies. Rules governed the worlds, and were defied by its inhabitants, to no avail. The characters scripted often remained, persistent across the Event Horizon of the Multiverse.

Pockets seated well outside any of these enigmatic realms housed the Avatars, the architects behind their very creation. All were welcome, and the peace was kept. Mostly. Sometimes they would create vast, open worlds inhabited by a multitude of sentient beings, all hailing from a different species. Many agreed on the cast, and traced identical worlds. One Avatar in particular sat alone in his throne, simply musing over the possibilities of one realm in particular.

Tau gazed upon the world of Remnant, the original version, the master template. For the time being, so much of this world was written in stone: the laws governing it were resolute, and undisputed by the Avatars choosing to create an identical Remnant to call their own. The cast was born and molded by the original architect, and forever recognized by the now captivated Avatars. Yet at the same time, this world, the original, had no ending. The stage was set, the actors were in costume, the audience waited in patient silence, the curtain was drawn and the first act was under way. While the others were celebrating, Tau sat alone, isolated from his peers.

With the simple behest of a single thought, the original Remnant flew off into the distant cosmos, zooming out to the Event Horizon. Tau simply sat back into the ethereal throne, and rested his cloaked head onto the smooth surface of the nearly transparent chair as his private theater surrounded him. Stars, galaxies, and mega-clusters formed veins which spider-webbed in complex mosaics of Universes. The mute gray hooded cloak composed of a spectral, semi-solid material wrapped around Tau's being, concealing no physical body in particular, but instead merely a black fog wreathed inside with the shape of a man.

Tau willed one of his own creations to come before him, and his own rendition of Remnant came into focus. He leaned forward and rested his arms on the ornate throne upon which he sat, and gazed upon the skeleton of his unfinished world. Well, it was not only his, this world was perfectly identical to that of another Avatar, and the two of them shaped a play together that they hoped would change the face of the stage forever more. It was very ambitious, and probably would never gain the eye of the original architect, but it was a start.

He zoomed in on a single continent, then further still onto a single city, Vale. Airships hung aloft in the clouds, stapled in place, immobile. People stood in the streets, frozen in frame.

"So much to do.. so many stories to tell.. but where to start?" Tau voiced, disheartened. He now focused on the central point in almost all of the thousands of Remnants: the Academy. Beacon Academy. Upon sight of the majestic structures, Tau sighed and sunk deeper into his seat.

Transparent threads looped throughout the many buildings, some flew off deep into the surrounding territories, many of them stayed within the bounds of the school's campus. These threads of fate connected the hearts and minds of all the characters slated to go on stage, and bound them to the world around them. A singular figure among the hundreds of others had dozens, maybe hundreds of strings tied to it. It was a boy, young, inexperienced, but strong. This one being of Tau's dream had been his most thought out creation. And through him, he would tell stories of love, and loss, tales of strength and determination and tragedies forged to temper his will, and test his metal.

"Hang in there, little one."

At the behest of another thought, Tau brought forward a large group of other figures, all frozen in time, like puppets. Some of them were the original architect's own creations, some of them were Tau's, and some of them were another's creation. All of them had one thing in common: through the fires of conflict and hardships, they would become the heroes of this tale.

Tau sighed again, and pushed the entirety of his personal plane of existence off into the distance. He was careful to keep it within reach, but resigned to further contemplate the fate of his creations.

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A/N: As I write these words, the clock sits mockingly at midnight. Happy Birthday to me I guess?

Take this little random block of text however you will, it doesn't really matter to me. I'm not going to ask for it, but any support you give would be greatly appreciated. Depression is kicking my ass right now, and I'm having a hard time focusing on anything in particular. Just, blah.


End file.
